


That Voice Which Calls To Me

by celestialfury



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (just a tiny bit I promise), ASMRtist Castiel, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub Undertones, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Lowkey Crack, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overworked Dean, POV Dean Winchester, Pining, Praise Kink, Romantic Tension, Roommates, Sexual Tension, anyway dean's a mess, cas is a softie but ALSO a tease, dean is starved for affection, so much pining y'all, this fic is an excuse to write cas doing asmr roleplay and I have no regrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26239798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfury/pseuds/celestialfury
Summary: Dean’s life is stressful – making sure Sam can comfortably go through his education requires him to work two jobs. Apart from small moments when he can hang out with his friends and family, Dean gets to really rest and feel at peace in the evenings, as he lays down and puts on his favorite ASMR videos.Little did Dean know, his favorite ASMRtist turns out to be Sam's friend... and their new roommate.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *plays 'and they were roommates' vine in the background*
> 
> so some time ago I had a random thought that cas' voice (and gentle spirit) would be great for ASMR and it developed into this fic, because OF COURSE it did. I started some months back and never finished because of all the crazy stuff that's happening and also... because I drop every project. but I'm posting this with big hopes that I actually finish for once, so please keep me accountable lol
> 
> disclaimer: this fic includes dean being horny about ASMR. I just wanna say that ASMR in itself is not sexual (though it can be). there's a lot of that going around and it's not doing the community, or the thing itself, any justice. I tried to reflect the variety of feelings ASMR can evoke, but then we all know how dean would deal with cas + breathing into a mic, right? (but there's also comfort and softness, consequences of which are maybe less embarrassing, but more emotionally impactful, obviously.)
> 
> anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride!

Dean sighs and closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

He’s been doing that increasingly more often. No wonder; getting yelled at for hours by bloodthirsty customers will do that to anyone.

Well, anyone except Joanna Beth Harvelle.

“Yes, ma’am. Of course, please let us know if you have any further problems. Have a nice day!” She exclaims with a smile and ends the call, immediately throwing her headset on the desk with a thud. “I’m about ready to murder someone,” she states and flashes Dean with a smile. He raises his brows.

“Yeah, don’t look too happy about it,” he retorts, feeling the corners of his own mouth quirk up.

Jo just smiles wider. “Gotta keep smiling or I’ll actually go on a rampage instead of joking about it. Maybe you should try it one day, Winchester,” she jokes. He opens his mouth to quip back, but she raises her finger to stop him and answers another call. “Hello, Sandover customer service, how may I help you?”

Dean sighs again. “How does she do it?” he asks nobody in particular and feels a comforting hand clapping his shoulder as Benny passes by his cubicle.

“No idea, brother,” he grumbles and passes him a fresh cup of coffee. Dean eagerly takes a sip and immediately burns his tongue, cursing under his breath. He hears Benny chuckle above him. “Anyway, don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a change.”

Dean briefly looks up at his friend and purses his lips in thought. Yeah, he supposes customer service is nobody’s dream job, and working at Sandover—under Zachariah, no less—must be a whole new level of personal hell. Nobody in their right mind would sign up for the long haul; Dean should expect people leaving and even be happy for them. Hell, he should think about leaving himself, except he can’t. Not that he’s forced to work there per se, thank God or whoever else, but the job pays surprisingly well and Dean can’t afford to earn even a dollar less than what he’s getting.

He turned twenty-five recently and he’d gladly be living a whole lot differently, but he has his responsibilities. His little brother, Sam, is still in law school. He’s been taking care of him ever since their parents' accident a few years back, or even before that to be honest, so when Sam told him he wants to become a lawyer, Dean—ever-focused on his brother’s dreams rather than his own—helped him enroll. So now, one student loan later, they’re struggling to make ends meet. Sam doesn’t have time to work and Dean doesn’t ask him to. Instead, he works part-time at the Roadhouse and occasionally helps Bobby at the salvage yard. His main source of income, however, is his customer service job. For now, Dean can manage that.

If he’s being honest with himself, this job is a lot easier thanks to his coworkers. He knew Jo already—he and Sam practically grew up with her—but he also found friends in Benny and Charlie.

From those three, Benny and Jo are about ready to move on to something less traumatizing. The only one who seems relatively content is Charlie. But then, she works for the IT department, so they don’t even get to see each other that often at work, and Dean barely has time for social calls outside of it.

Just two more years, Dean tells himself, and Sam will get his degree, find a good-paying job, and start his own life.

Somehow, that is both comforting and depressing. But then, maybe Dean will get to do that, as well.

Another call shakes him from his train of thoughts. He takes a deep breath and tries to smile. “This is Sandover customer service, how may I help?”

***

“Maybe we should find a roommate.”

Dean turns his attention from the TV screen to his brother. “Sammy, we’re fine—”

“No, we’re not, Dean. You’re not,” he says, and Dean just rolls his eyes. “You’re barely home anymore and you’re clearly overworking yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Dean states, his voice firmer this time, as if it could convince his brother.

It doesn’t.

“Okay, like I said, you’re not, but whatever. At least hear me out,” he pleads. Dean sighs and turns his body sideways on the sofa, so he can face his brother properly.

“Alright, hit me.”

Sam just nods. “So, ever notice how we’re living in a house meant for more than two people?”

Dean slaps his brother playfully on the arm and smiles. “Don’t get smug, Sasquatch, and get to the damn point.” Sam just chuckles.

“Alright, jeez. So get this,” he starts, and Dean can already tell he’s thought this through. “We have an entire room that’s just… there. You know? I know it’s mom and dad’s, but they no longer need it, and we need the money. So…”

“So…”

“ _So_ ,” Sam says, hesitantly, “we could pack up their stuff, put it somewhere, or even give some of it away, and make space for someone new to move in. Right?”

Dean looks at his brother, biting the inside of his cheek. He looks so hesitant, like he might've offended him, and Dean’s heart melts a little at the sight. He knows he’s been somewhat protective of their parents’ room. Ever since their accident, he barely touched any of their stuff, much less thought about redecorating. He knew his brother had a point; it made no sense to leave the room to gather dust while they’re basically still drowning in debt.

“Yeah, okay,” he answers after a while and Sam visibly breathes in relief. “But it’s gotta be someone we can trust, and I don’t think any of my friends are looking for a place right now.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I already have a few people in mind,” Sam mutters and pulls up his phone. He glances at Dean once more, his gaze self-assured and weirdly comforting. “I can take care of everything, Dean, you don’t have to worry about that.”

And Dean supposes that’s true; his little brother’s almost a lawyer. He trusts him. He can trust him with this.

“Okay, Sammy,” he nods, and gets up. “One thing, though.”

“Uh-oh,” Sam mutters, raising his brows expectantly. “Is it some kind of a weird rule or something? Is there going to be a screening process?”

“What? No,” he laughs, “well, kinda. I was gonna say, no chicks. We don’t want relationship drama in here,” he finishes, sending a meaningful look in his brother’s direction. Sam lets out a laugh and looks back at the screen, amusement clear on his face.

“I don’t know, Dean, if that’s the rule, then we must be looking at the wrong criteria in here.” His eyes find Dean’s again. “You know, since you don’t really discriminate—“

“I meant _you_ , Sammy.” Dean tries to sound exasperated, he really does, but it’s all kinds of hysterical. He chuckles despite himself. “God, why did I ever come out to you?” He breathes out and starts walking away. Sam just laughs behind him.

“Because I’m an amazing, supportive brother!”

And Dean can’t really argue with that.

***

Dean’s evenings look more or less the same every day.

Make food, watch some TV, take a shower, and go to bed. Pretty ordinary.

Except the part where Dean watches ASMR on his laptop before he goes to sleep.

He’s only ever told Charlie about this, and just because she shared it with him first. It was similar to his coming out, in a way; her own admission gave him courage. Of course, the difference is that he’s no longer ashamed of his sexuality. ASMR, however, still remains in his shameful closet.

Maybe because it’s so damn _sappy_ and reveals just a bit too much about what a desperate mess he really is. In the privacy of his room, however, with headphones on and a warm, heavy blanket covering his body, that shame is almost non-existent, and evaporates completely once he presses play on yet another video.

He first stumbled upon ASMR by accident. One evening, he was scrolling through his YouTube feed and noticed a soap cutting video. Curious of what the _hell_ are people on this platform doing these days, he clicked on it and quickly found himself at the relaxation station. Once he dove in, he entered a rabbit hole of soothing visuals and audio. After a particularly stressful day, he found himself browsing through the satisfying videos once again and stumbled upon an ASMR triggers video. The instant gratification and the absolute calm that washed over him was indescribable.

And so, he found a cure to his stress.

It’s not something he can just whip out at work, but even the promise of a calming evening with his headphones on is enough to get him through the day. He wonders, at times, if it’s becoming a problem. But then, this is just a symptom. Without the pressures of his work and financial problems, without the customers constantly yelling in his ears, he wouldn’t be so desperate for relief.

That is, he thought so until he found RebelAngel.

There are plenty of good ASMRtists, as they call themselves, but RebelAngel must be Dean’s absolute favorite. He thinks the name is fitting, because the guy’s voice is absolute heaven. It’s deep and husky, but also warm and calming, and there’s a gentleness to it that works wonders on Dean. He could listen to him talk and whisper and hum for _ages._

Doesn’t help that the guy is gorgeous, with his dark, messy hair and intense blue eyes; ASMR should be calming, but Dean finds his heart beating faster than normal, sometimes.

As Dean settles in his bed, he pulls up RebelAngel’s channel on his laptop and looks through his videos. He’s seen most of them, some of them more than once—there’s a particular one that Dean could probably recreate in his sleep, gentle praise and all—but there’s a new one, uploaded just a few hours before, and so Dean clicks on the thumbnail.

The video is called “ASMR Relaxing Evening with a Caring Friend.” Angel, as Dean calls him in his head, steps into the frame and sits down, his face close to the camera. He has his usual white button-up shirt on, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. _Hello,_ he says in his soft voice and Dean already feels himself sinking further into his bed. _How was your day?_

The response, of course, never comes. Dean sometimes replies in his head, just to keep the immersion going.

 _As usual, not great, but not terrible,_ he thinks and watches as Angel’s eyes go soft, his gaze wandering all over Dean’s face—or, all over the camera. He reaches out, as if to run his fingers through his hair, and hums. The gesture is strangely endearing and Dean, in the privacy of his room, tries not to smile at his computer screen, biting the inside of his right cheek.

 _I’m sorry to hear that._ Angel sighs and smiles that tiny smile of his, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. _You should rest tonight. Relax._ He repeats the last word, getting closer and alternating from left to right, and Dean can feel the tension leaving him as if on command. His eyes wander briefly along the line of the man’s throat, glancing at the collarbone that peeks out from beneath his collar. Angel sits back again. _Let me help with that._ _Here,_ he says, grabbing a white mug and seemingly giving it to the other person. _Drink this. It’s hot chocolate._

Damn, he could go for some hot chocolate. He doesn’t even think there’s any in the kitchen, and he only has some water in a cup next to him. He shakes his head. It’s just play-pretend, anyway.

Angel takes the cup and sets it down. _Good,_ he praises, and a pleasant chill goes through Dean’s body. There’s an undercurrent of arousal coursing through him, but it’s weirdly comforting. He doesn’t think much of it. Angel bends down and, when he reappears, he has a maroon blanket in his hands. _Let’s get you all warm and cozy,_ he says softly, unfolding the blanket and wrapping it around the imaginary person. Dean can almost feel enveloped in its warmth.

This feeling right there—being taken care of, being _cared for_ —is what really hits Dean the most. He gets to have this for thirty minutes, which is more than he could ever hope for with his schedule. He drifts off to sleep feeling relaxed and maybe, _just maybe,_ a bit mushy on the inside. And if his bed feels strangely empty afterwards, well, that’s just how it is.

***

Dean almost forgets about the search for a roommate when, a few days later, Sam reminds him.

He’s in the kitchen, cutting Sam’s veggies, when he enters. “So, I found a guy.”

“I’m happy for you, Sammy.”

“Come on, Dean.” He shakes his head, his lips curved in a lopsided smile. “I found _us_ a _roommate_.”

“So? Who is he?” Dean asks, feeling genuinely curious. This is someone who’s gonna live in their parents’ bedroom, and their house, after all.

“His name is Cas, I met him during a guest lecture on psychology. I think it was his friend’s lecture. He helped me afterwards, recommended some books. We meet in the library sometimes, he hangs out there a lot.”

“So he’s a student?”

“No.” Dean frowns at that. “Well, the library is open to anyone, so—”

“How old is this guy, anyway?”

“He’s like thirty at most,” he replies and Dean stops cutting for a moment, glancing at his brother. Sam just shrugs. “He’s cool. You’ll like him.”

“So,” Dean starts, going back to cutting an eggplant. “What’s this guy doing, looking for a room in some student’s house?”

Sam rubs his face in frustration. “Come on, Dean, it’s not like you’re the one to talk.” Dean glares at him from above the cutting board. “Sorry. Anyway, he lives with his brother, but he’s apparently getting sick of him. I even met the guy once and I honestly can’t blame Cas for feeling that way.”

“Hope you’re not gonna follow in his footsteps.”

“Well, unless you start organizing amateur orgies—”

“What?”

“Yeah, he’s like that,” Sam laughs. Dean considers that for a moment.

“So this Cas doesn’t participate?”

“Okay, first of all, ew,” Sam jokes, and Dean chuckles a bit, shrugging. “Second of all, clearly you’ve never met Cas. The guy is so calm and composed, it’s ridiculous. You’d think he has a major stick up his ass, but I know him enough to actually appreciate his own brand of humor.”

Dean hums. He feels himself getting more intrigued by the second, but tries for nonchalance as he continues his work on the eggplant. “So what’s this guy do for a living?”

Sam finally sits down on a bar stool next to the counter. “I think he and his brother are like filmmakers or something. He doesn’t really go into that.”

“No porn?”

“Don’t think so. Well, not Cas, anyway. My guess is, they make mediocre movies or YouTube content and Cas is just too self-conscious to share with the class.” Sam shifts nervously in his seat. “So anyway, what do you think? You wanna meet him?”

Dean considers that for a moment. Sam seems to trust this guy; he sounds friendly and reliable, even if his brother is a bit eccentric. Dean sets down the knife. “That’s fine, Sammy. I just have one question.”

“Yep?”

“Is he hot?”

Sam snickers at that. “What about your rule, Dean?”

“Kidding, kidding. I trust you, and he seems fine, so you can bring him in. I’ll make lasagna,” he declares, and Sam grins. Dean chuckles and messes his brother’s majestic hair, making him yelp.

“Okay, I’ll tell him,” he gets up and goes to his room, but before leaving, he turns to Dean one more time. “Oh, and Dean, thanks for trusting me with this.”

Dean feels warmth settling in his chest and smiles. “Of course, little brother. Always.”

***

On Friday, Dean’s about done with everything.

People yelling in his ear on a daily basis? Dean can manage that. People threatening him on the phone? Not so much.

“I’ll find him,” Charlie reassures him over lunch. “I can send him a severed finger in an unsigned package, or a dead rat or something.” Dean shakes his head, smiling slightly.

“I appreciate it, but it’s not that serious,” he replies, looking up at her from above his sandwich. “He threatened my job, not my life. Might as well force me to find a better one, ‘cause I ain’t leaving myself.”

“As much as I’d mourn my lunch buddy, you should probably consider that.” She sips her coffee and continues. “You look tortured each time I see you.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well. Sam found us a roommate, so maybe I’ll actually take that advice.”

Charlie visibly perks up at that. “Ooh, is he hot?” Dean lets out a surprised laugh.

“I thought you were a lesbian, Bradbury.”

“I’m asking for _you_ , nerd.” She grins at him and he just shakes his head again, chuckling. “So, spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill, Charlie. He’s coming over tomorrow.”

Charlie puts an elbow on their table and props her chin on her hand. “Mystery man! Maybe he’s your Mr. Right and you don’t even know it yet!”

She looks smug. Dean wants to wipe that smirk off her face, but a hint of fondness pulls at his features as he looks at his friend with what he thinks is a disapproving frown. He sighs and looks away to hide the smile that fights its way onto his face. “That’s not happening.”

Charlie observes him for a moment. “Are you saying that because you’re a self-deprecating mess,” she starts and Dean sends her a glare. She continues, unbothered. “Or because of that ASMR guy you keep obsessing over?”

Dean looks around nervously to make sure no one heard that. Charlie just smiles knowingly. “Charlie, I swear to God…”

“Tell me, how long has it been since you’ve been on a date? Or since you’ve hooked up with someone?”

He frowns and stubbornly pins his gaze on the cup in his hands. Charlie looks at him expectantly, but it’s not like she doesn’t already know. Between all his jobs and his responsibilities at home, he doesn’t even have the energy to go out with his friends, much less make an effort to meet someone new. That loneliness just pushes him further into the virtual arms of his soft-spoken, blue-eyed care bear.

Fuck, he really needs to get his life together.

“I’m just saying,” she finally picks up again, “ASMR is good and all, but you also need actual care, not just an imaginary one. Even if the imaginary care is so awesome.”

Dean finally looks up and Charlie gives him a reassuring smile. “It really is, though.” He smirks, feeling his unease evaporate a little.

Charlie laughs at that. “I know! I recently found this girl’s channel, she just melts my heart. I can even forgive the long nails if she keeps tapping me to oblivion.” She sighs dreamily and Dean chuckles, nodding in silent understanding. “And what about your guy? Did he do something recently to sweep you off your feet?”

 _He always does,_ Dean wants to say, but they’re interrupted by Jo yelling from the other side of the cafeteria.

“You coming, Winchester?” Dean grunts at that and forces the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, taking his unfinished coffee with him.

“Gross, dude,” Charlie laughs, and he flips her off with his free hand. “See ya,” she adds with her signature smile, and he tries to smile back with his mouth full. She then waves at Jo, her smile turning shy as she brushes her hair behind her ear. Dean squints briefly at her, but doesn’t dwell on it and rushes to catch up with Jo.

No more threats are directed his way, but he wishes he could hear a certain blue-eyed man’s gentle voice in his ears instead of the ever-angry stream of complaints.

***

He comes back from work more frustrated than ever.

His head hurts and he feels like punching something. He was supposed to work at the Roadhouse this evening, but Ellen sent him home after twenty minutes of his fidgeting and muttered curses. He knows she did the right thing and is probably more worried than angry, but he still feels like a disappointment.

He catches Sam devouring a big slice of pizza in front of several open books. He just shrugs at him.

“Won’t have time to study tomorrow. Want some?”

Dean takes a slice, but doesn’t stop to talk. He just wants to shower and go to bed. He can hear Sam sigh behind him.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Fine, Sam,” he replies quickly, not bothering to turn around as he goes straight to his room. He’s not in the mood to talk, and definitely doesn’t want to bother Sam with useless complaining, especially since he’s studying. Dean finishes his slice, checks in with Bobby about his Saturday shift at the salvage yard, grabs his worn-out Zeppelin tee and a pair of boxers, and goes to the bathroom.

He takes his time, trying to relax under the warm spray of water, but no dice. The constant buzz of stress is vibrating under his skin. He thinks it would be nice to take a bath and just try to relax this way, but he’s already clean and it would be a waste of water, so he decides against it as he steps out of the shower. He dries off and briefly looks at himself in the mirror before quickly putting on clean clothes with a slight frown.

Once he’s dressed, he looks at his reflection again and rubs his jaw. He remembers that tomorrow Sam is introducing their new roommate and decides to shave. He usually doesn’t bother during the weekend, but he should put in at least a bit of effort to look presentable.

He feels an invisible weight settle on him as he considers that meeting. He’s not exactly nervous about the guy himself—he trusts his brother with his choice, and Cas sounds like a good guy—but he’s more worried about making a good first impression, or at least not scaring the guy off. He can deal with strangers no problem. It _is_ his job, and he got pretty good at faking friendliness if necessary. But this is different. This is Sam’s friend and, from what Dean can tell, a smart, if somewhat peculiar, guy.

He just wants to make a good impression.

He thinks about what Charlie said and whether Cas will be handsome. He almost cuts himself as he considers the slightest possibility that he might be Dean’s type and shakes his head in frustration.

This is not really the appropriate moment for Dean’s love life—or sex life, for that matter—to be brought back from the dead. And besides, how hot can the guy be, anyway? Not that Sam could tell an average dude from a Greek god, but he just can’t imagine his looks being a problem.

Dean can be chill. Maybe even make a new friend. He’s probably overthinking, anyway.

He washes his face and brushes his teeth.

He looks fine, he thinks as he spares one last glance at the mirror.

It’s a few minutes past eight when he gets into bed, so he starts watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine. He is around halfway through another episode when a YouTube notification pops up on his smartphone:

_RebelAngel uploaded: ASMR 1 Hour of Various Ear Triggers._

This is different from Angel’s usual content. He normally does various scripted videos where he plays a role or just talks. This, though…

Dean immediately pulls the video up on his laptop, plugging his headphones in and getting comfortable. He sees Angel in his usual shirt, standing in front of a plain dark sheet, a weird microphone with two ears in front of him. He’s seen it before in other people’s videos and is already excited for the sounds he’s about to experience. Dean smiles as he sees the familiar face and hears the soft _Hello_. The lighting is soft, illuminating Angel's features and making his blue eyes shine with warmth.

He begins with a small introduction and slowly starts experimenting with different sounds. Sometimes he whispers incoherently, going from one ear to another; other times, he brings out various items. Dean is mesmerized, watching Angel do simple, silly things, like tapping on wooden spoons and turning the pages of a worn book. Angel himself looks as if he's fascinated with every tap, and clink, and slide. He goes back to making sounds with his mouth again and Dean hums in contentment. He cannot say he's complaining.

He could fall asleep just like this, his laptop warm and heavy on his stomach, whispered nonsense coming from his headphones, but that’s when Angel decides to change it up a bit and blows gently into one of the ears.

Dean can already feel the familiar tingling running up and down his spine like a current of electricity. Angel alternates between blowing, brushing, and scratching, and Dean’s tension evaporates like it was never there. His senses are stimulated and he closes his eyes, completely focused on the sensations in his ears, the tingles running through his body. 

Then he hears— _feels_ —the softest kiss against his left ear and opens his eyes instantly.

Angel is making the most delicate kissing sounds against the mic and Dean shudders; he can almost feel the soft lips on his own ears, as if his body is trying to recreate the physical sensation associated with the sounds. If that wasn’t enough, as Dean looks at the screen, he catches Angel glancing at the camera from underneath his lashes, his intensely blue eyes piercing through the screen right into Dean’s soul. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he maneuvers his hand under the covers, shifting the laptop a bit, and rubs himself over his boxers.

It’s ridiculous, he thinks to himself briefly, but that thought leaves him as quickly as it came as Angel delivers another soft kiss, this time to his right ear. Dean almost gasps as a wave of pleasure runs through him.

He can imagine himself under him, shuddering as the dark-haired man kisses him all over, ever so softly pressing his lips onto Dean’s skin. He kicks off the covers and gets his hand underneath the waistband of his boxers. He lets out a gasp this time—how is he so hard already _, fuck_ —and sets a quick, desperate pace, the sudden need overpowering him. On the screen, Angel starts breathing audibly into the ears, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in a soft smile, and Dean bites his lip to stop himself from making sounds.

He can feel himself getting closer; it would be embarrassing, if not for the fact that it’s been so long since he’s felt this way. Nobody’s really touching him, but the illusion is there, and Dean is desperate for relief. Angel chooses this moment to start whispering _good, good, good_ into the mic, alternating between the ears, and _fuck_ , Dean absolutely _loses_ it as he squeezes his eyes shut and comes all over himself, gasping for breath.

Well. So that just happened.

He quickly wipes off the mess and closes the laptop, the soft sounds in his ears bordering on over-stimulation. That’s certainly one way of relieving stress, he thinks, and lets out a shocked laugh as he still struggles to calm his breathing. He wonders briefly whether this… _whatever_ this was will impact his viewing experience, reacting to Angel’s voice and connecting it to mind-blowing orgasms like he’s some kind of Pavlov's dog, but he brushes it off. It’s not a big deal; people beat off to all kinds of stuff. His recent celibacy is not helping matters.

He quickly walks to the bathroom on unsteady legs and washes his hands, splashing himself with cold water. He changes into clean boxers—screw putting a shirt on again—and goes to bed.

Satiated and relaxed, he drifts off instantly.

***

The next day, Dean finishes his shift at Bobby's salvage yard in a surprisingly good mood. He likes helping Bobby, sure, but it helps that he took care of his frustrations the day before. It also helps that he has the perspective of a day’s rest ahead of him.

When he gets behind the wheel of his Impala, he’s tired and kinda dirty, but mostly happy. As he gets closer to home, the anticipation starts growing and settling like a heavy weight on his stomach again. He checks the time, wondering whether he’ll manage to take a quick shower and change into something clean.

When he finally arrives, he is greeted by his brother sitting on the sofa. He rushes past him to the bathroom.

“Dean, there you are—” he starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“No time, Sam, I gotta go shower, there’s grease on me in places you don’t even wanna know—”

“Dean, listen—”

“What time is your buddy showing up? Do I have to rush or—”

“About that—”

“Uh, hello.”

Weird. He must be tired, because he swears he can hear Angel’s voice, and that’s—

Impossible.

Dean turns to the source of the voice almost in slow-motion. He is greeted with messy, dark hair, and blue eyes staring right into his soul.

“My name is Castiel.” He outstretches his hand in greeting. “I don’t mind the grease.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean blinks once. Twice. Angel is still there, standing in front of him, waiting.

Angel. _Castiel._

He can feel the heat creep up from under his collar. He realizes he’s been staring with his mouth open, you know, like a _dumbass_.

How should he act? He falls asleep nearly every night to the sight of the guy, to the sound of his voice telling him _sweet dreams,_ for fuck’s sake.

He tries to shake off the embarrassment and takes Angel’s— _Cas’s_ —outstretched hand, like a normal person would. You know, like Dean has no idea what the guy sounds like when he says _you are important, you are loved, let me take care of you._

“H-Hey, I’m Dean,” he croaks and clears his throat, trying to appear casual as he swallows through the sudden dryness in his mouth. Cas’s palm is warm, but firm as it squeezes his own in greeting.

Dammit, he _jerked off_ to him yesterday with that hand _,_ he realizes and yanks his arm back as if he got burned. Cas squints his eyes, tilting his head in confusion, but smiles nonetheless.

He’s so screwed.

Probably noticing his unease, Cas steps away from him, but his eyes linger with a look of puzzled curiosity. Dean is suddenly hyper-aware of the dirty smudges all over him, on his _face_ probably, and he rubs his hands over his jeans, licking his lips nervously. He notices Sam looking at him with a disapproving scowl, but Dean waves him off.

“So anyway,” Sam starts and there is an edge to his brother’s voice that immediately makes Dean feel guilty about his behavior. “Cas came over a while ago, I’ve just shown him around the house, but we wanted to wait until you come back to show him his new bedroom—“

“Well, it’s not _mine_ yet,” Cas murmurs, and glances at Dean with what seems like unease. It’s such a new visual for Dean that he’s immediately pulled back to reality. Regardless of the big revelation, Cas is here because he needs a room and they need a roommate. He needs to pull himself together and be an adult about this.

“Okay,” Dean finally says, and tries to act as smooth as possible. Judging by his brother’s raised eyebrows and Cas’s waiting eyes on him, he’s not doing so swell. “You guys continue… whatever, and I’m gonna go shower really quick.” He looks down at himself, feeling filthy and embarrassed.

Sam takes a breath, as if he’s about to start saying something, but he hears Cas’s husky voice, instead.

“It’s alright, Dean. We’ll wait for you.”

Dean looks at Cas briefly, and there’s a shy, but comforting smile on his lips. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and returns a shaky smile himself. He quickly glances at Sam, who’s looking at him expectantly, and rushes off to his bedroom.

As he reaches his room, Dean closes the door behind him and presses his back into it, exhaling in momentary relief of privacy.

“What the hell,” he murmurs to himself, _at_ himself, at this whole damn situation, because how the _hell_ is this his life right now? He finds one good thing in his life and now it’s _ruined,_ because how in the fuck will he ever watch RebelAngel’s videos with the guy sleeping in the same house as him? Hell, his door is gonna be a few steps away from his own, and Dean just can’t imagine listening to the guy’s voice whispering in his ears without the sense of _wrongness_ filling his entire body.

He knows he let it go too far—especially the evening before when he came all over himself listening to the guy _kiss a mic_ , for fuck’s sake—but he never, ever, _ever_ would’ve suspected that he’s gonna meet him in real life. And he’s Sam’s _friend,_ and about to become their _roommate—_

Dean takes a few steadying breaths, trying not to let panic overtake him. He grabs some clean clothes and rushes to the bathroom, desperate for a warm spray of water to calm his nerves.

Or maybe a cold shower. Yep, that’s probably what he needs, as he remembers blue eyes watching him closely.

He decides on lukewarm as he steps into the shower, immediately focusing on washing off the grease and dirt from the salvage yard. He needs to be rational about this. There is no good reason—not one he can easily explain, anyway—for him to suddenly decide that Cas can’t stay with them. If he has any valid concerns, then he might consider voicing them, but it would be entirely unfair to the guy if he just flat out told him _no_ because he can’t keep it in his pants. He’s a grown man, and if he has emotional issues, that’s on him, not on this poor guy. He apparently needs a place to stay, and Dean desperately needs someone to take the financial weight off his shoulders, or at least some of it.

And it’s Sam’s _friend._ Dammit, it’s _Angel._ There’s no way in hell he could ever say no to his face. Besides, he really should be thrilled at the opportunity to get to know the guy. Sam’s approval should be enough of an indication, but if Cas is even remotely similar to the guy he’s used to seeing on his channel…

Charlie’s words echo in his mind. _Mr. Right._ He’s pretty sure the universe is not that generous.

He already knows it’s gonna be a sacrifice on his part, but he feels his resolve strengthen as he steps out of the shower.

And if he uses a bit of his favorite perfume before leaving the bathroom, well, that’s his business.

***

His confidence quickly turns into astonishment as he enters the kitchen and sees Cas in his white button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, making lasagna.

“Dean,” Sam says from his seat at the counter, startling Dean. He has an open book in his hands. “You were taking your sweet time, so Cas offered to help,” he explains. Dean just nods absentmindedly, looking back at Cas, who smiles apologetically.

“I hope that’s okay.”

Honestly, Dean should probably be offended— _he_ was supposed to cook, and besides, who lets a _guest_ cook while they, what, _read a book?—_ but Cas just looks so amazingly _normal_ as he puts layer after layer into the dish, and Dean just can’t get mad at that. Besides, he’d better get used to the sight of Cas in their domestic space if they’re going to be living together.

“Yeah, sorry for making you work,” he replies, leaning on the counter. He watches Cas’s slender hands at work. It’s strangely calming. “So you can cook, huh?”

“I do enjoy it immensely.” He takes the dish off the counter and puts it in the oven. Dean already misses seeing his hands maneuver the ingredients in front of him, which, hey Dean, _weird_. “Whether it’s edible, that’s another matter.” Sam snorts at that, and Dean notices an amused glint in Cas’s eyes as he catches his gaze. “I once tried to make oatmeal cookies and Sam almost broke his teeth on one.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughs and puts his book away. “Don’t let it fool you, though. Cas’s cooking easily rivals yours, as far as I can tell.”

Dean glances back at Cas, who’s leaning on the counter behind him with his hands resting on the edge on either side of his hips. Dean’s eyes wander briefly over his figure and he realizes he’s never actually seen Angel’s— _Cas’s_ —entire body in his videos. He’s tall, slender, but there’s a definite hint of muscle under his clothing that makes Dean swallow. He looks up into Cas’s eyes again and finds him watching with a curious gaze. “That right?” Dean teases, but there’s no bite to it, and his voice catches a bit. Cas just smiles slightly.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tasted anything of yours.”

He inhales sharply at that, his mind going places it _really shouldn’t,_ but he brushes it off. “Well then, next time _I’m_ cooking, amigo,” he manages to say casually. Cas visibly relaxes at that, as if some tension Dean was not aware of before has been lifted from his shoulders.

 _Next time_.

“Okay, while that’s cooking,” Sam interrupts—and just as well, because Dean was about to over-analyze the _hell_ out of that situation—and gets up from his seat. “How about we finally let Cas see the room?”

***

The bedroom still feels like it belongs to his parents.

Sam helped Dean finally put their things into boxes a few days back. They kept some of the stuff—family photos, dad’s journal—but the rest they gave away. Although Dean knew someone else would benefit more from having it, he also allowed himself to keep his mom’s favorite dress, pale blue that emphasized her golden locks.

He’s sentimental, so sue him.

The furniture in the room is in no way new, but it shines after Dean polished it himself, and the bed is freshly made, with clean sheets and a blanket covering it. By all accounts, the room is ready for a new person to move in.

As Cas enters, his eyes go wide. He crosses the room slowly, caresses the wooden chest of drawers on his way, and finally turns to Dean and Sam, looking slightly concerned.

“This must be bigger than both of your rooms,” he notes, frowning. “And the bed… it’s huge. Are—Are you sure you’re okay with me living here?”

He looks between the both of them, but Dean feels as if the question is directed more at him than his brother. He can only suspect that Sam told him about his attachment to this room. Judging by the silence, they’re both expecting him to say something.

“Yeah, man. It’s yours, if you want it” is all he manages to say and he surprises himself with how easily the statement comes out of his mouth. Cas just nods, his face serious, like he understands the weight of Dean’s offer, and hell, he probably does.

“So we can go over the formalities during the week, but you can move in as soon as you like, then,” Sam says, and there’s a considerable relief in his voice as he breathes out the words. “Tomorrow’s an option, best do it during the weekend.”

“I’ll need some time to pack my things,” Cas muses, and Dean tries not to look too relieved at that. He’ll gladly take a few days to prepare himself mentally for whatever it is he just signed up for. “How about next Saturday?”

“That works. Dean?”

“Sure.” He notices Cas nodding slightly, and sees him glancing around some more in appreciative silence. Dean turns to Sam briefly, but he just shrugs with a smile. 

The silence of the room is interrupted by Dean’s grumbling stomach. Sam is grinning now, and Dean can’t help but return his smile.

“Is that lasagna ready yet? God, I hope it’s edible,” he quips, looking at Cas from the corner of his eye, and sees him release an honest to God chuckle.

“Let’s see, shall we?” he says simply and follows Sam out of the room.

As he’s leaving, Dean takes one last look at his parents’ room. Next time he sees it, it’s gonna be Cas’s room, he thinks, closing the door.

Somehow, he’s okay with that.

***

It’s weird in a way, Dean thinks as he stuffs his mouth with lasagna. They’re in the living room, Sam and Cas are talking about the book Sam was reading earlier—Dean isn’t sure, he isn’t really listening that closely—and it hits him that Cas looks so… _ordinary._ It’s almost like he’s looking at an actor who plays his favorite character. Well, maybe not, since Dean still recognizes an aura of calmness around him that is so _Angel_. And the small smiles he offers him, almost like he’d like to include him in the conversation, ever-considerate.

Yeah, maybe it’s like he’s his favorite fictional character come to life, but somehow more _real._ He eats, nods as Sam makes another comment, shifts in his seat slightly, scratches his knee. It’s kinda eye-opening, but in a good way. Dean is still a little starstruck, but there is something slightly awkward about Cas that reminds him he’s just a guy.

Though, if he’s completely honest, his eyes are more striking in person. The way the light emphasizes how blue they are as he turns his head _just right_ —

“Dean?”

“Wuh?”

He swallows. _Real eloquent, Winchester._

“Are you okay? How’s the lasagna?” Cas asks. Dean would presume that he’s merely being polite, but there’s genuine curiosity in his voice that makes him falter.

“It’s, uh, it’s great,” he manages to force out and, to be honest, he isn’t exaggerating. Sam was right—Cas _is_ a damn good cook. He still feels a bit embarrassed for being caught staring like that, so he focuses on his plate and shoves as much food into his mouth as possible to avoid further conversation. Sam just sighs and murmurs something under his breath, exasperated.

He decides to shift the attention away from himself, so he swallows and turns to Cas. “So,” he starts, “heard you have a brother, too. Is he as annoying as Chewbacca over here?” Sam kicks him under the table with his long moose leg. Dean just smirks, feeling a bit more relaxed. Cas is watching them with that little tilt of his head. There’s something in his gaze, like he’s… amused, maybe?

“Depends on which one we’re talking about,” he says simply, and Dean tries not to imagine a whole band of handsome, blue-eyed angels. “But I guess you mean Gabriel?”

“Yeah,” Sam cuts in. “I told Dean a bit about your, uh, living situation.”

“Well,” Cas starts, and Dean almost braces in his seat, as if he’s in for a ghost story. “We do have our disagreements, but we’re close. We have a big family, but we’re not on the best of terms,” he states calmly, but Dean notices he looks distant, as if he’s deep in thought. After a brief pause, he continues. “But as much as I love my brother, living with him can be… challenging.” Cas frowns. “He enjoys his parties a little too much.”

Dean can’t help himself, remembering what Sam told him about Gabriel’s ‘parties,’ so he interrupts. “So you don’t, uh…”

He can feel rather than see Sam’s glare as he shifts in his seat. Cas looks unbothered as he shakes his head. “No, I usually just stay for the first few drinks and go to my room. Or go out for a walk,” he says and looks at Sam briefly. “Or to the library.” He leans back in his seat, sighing slightly. “I generally enjoy peace and quiet.”

 _No kidding,_ Dean thinks, nodding. He seems to know that too well. He looks down at his hands, pursing his lips. Of course, this should be new information for him. It _is_ new; he can’t really believe that Angel and Cas are the same in every way, even if it seems so easy.

He’ll have to adjust.

After that, they briefly discuss work. Cas describes his occupation in the most vague terms possible, but Dean knows, _of course._ He feels a slight pang of guilt, as if he’s keeping a secret—well, he _is_ —but then, anyone with particular interests and an internet connection can find out exactly what Cas does for a living. Seeing that Dean hides his ASMR obsession from the world, he can understand being cautious about it if you’re recording it yourself. Many people find it weird, sexual even.

Anyway, he would argue against the inherent sexual nature of ASMR, but he can’t do it in good conscience anymore, considering what he did the night before. Dean shakes it off, trying to forget that particular embarrassment. Especially since Cas is _right there._

_God, he’s right there._

Dean’s incoming spiral is interrupted by Cas announcing he’s leaving. He almost sighs with relief as they get up from their seats to say their goodbyes. He takes his mug of coffee with him to occupy his hands with something, _anything_. Thankfully, Cas doesn’t shake his hand again. He nods in Sam’s direction and turns to him next with an unreadable expression.

“Goodnight, Dean,” he says softly and Dean’s brain short-circuits. He laughs awkwardly, breath leaving him in a rush, and he mumbles a small “'bye, Cas” in response.

The smile he gets in return makes it worth the effort.

At least he thought so, until he saw his brother closing the door behind his friend and turning to Dean with a questioning look.

“Dude, what is _up_ with you today?”

He decides to play stupid and takes a sip from his mug. “What do you mean?”

“You’re acting weird,” Sam remarks. “Cas was nervous about this meeting and your freaking out didn’t exactly help.” He’s moving past him back to the living room. Dean follows, scratching his neck and wondering how he’s gonna explain to his brother that he’s seen Cas before. Many times. Probably too many.

Even if he could somehow find the words to explain his situation, he realizes that Cas must have his own reasons not to tell them about his work. This includes Sam, and they know each other longer than Dean knows Cas—in real life, at least.

He’s not sure whether it’s good or bad that it’s not his secret to tell.

“It’s like you’re on edge.” Sam leans on the back of the sofa, looking at Dean with raised eyebrows. He crosses his arms. “Well?”

Dean rubs his hand over his face. He’s gonna have to improvise. “It’s caffeine. I got the jitters.”

“What?”

“You know me, I drink coffee like crazy—”

“Dean, it’s literally 9PM.”

He just points to the mug in his hand that says _death before decaf_.

Sam just sighs. “That doesn’t explain the mumbling, Dean.”

“The what?”

“The mumbling,” he repeats, and Dean simply stares at him with what he’s hoping is an intimidating scowl. “It’s like you were distracted or—or _flustered_ or—” he cuts himself off, a sudden laugh making it past his lips.

Dean feels the blood draining from his face, his expression blank. “Why are you laughing?”

“Uh,” Sam starts, clearing his throat, and smiles. “You know what, nothing.” He straightens up, looking amused. “You’re probably tired, that must be it.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Sam…”

He lets out a small chuckle and turns away from him. “Come on Dean.” He picks up the plates from the table. “I’ll clean up. You can go rest.” Dean eyes him suspiciously and shakes his head, but takes the opportunity to escape to his room.

But not before he hears Sam chuckle to himself again. “Jitters.”

***

When Dean finally hits the hay, he’s still on edge.

Of course, Sam was right. He was freaking out and mumbling and all these other things, wasn’t he? Sam noticed it, so Cas surely must’ve noticed, too. Jesus, he must think Dean’s a weirdo. 

He seemed almost timid at times. But that’s understandable, since Sam said Dean made him nervous. The guy must be wondering what the hell he’s getting into. Honestly, Dean can relate. There’s something about him, though. He’s unlike anyone Dean’s ever met, but he can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s just this whole _ASMR-idol_ thing that’s fucking with his brain.

If he’d ever allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to meet Angel, he never would’ve expected to feel this way under his careful scrutiny. Sure, maybe he gets flustered more often around hot guys than hot girls, but damn it, he’s not a teenager. Yet, Cas’s eyes on him were almost too much to handle and all he did was _look_. He just hopes he can get used to it, or move past it.

Fuck, he’s never going to watch RebelAngel again. There’s no fucking way. He wonders if he could even enjoy it without guilt slowly eating away at him. Hell, the guy himself would be sitting in his room just a few steps away and if _that_ doesn’t make Dean wanna unsee—or un _hear_ —all those videos… But he can’t. He’s cursed with the knowledge of how damn sweet he sounds when he says all the sappiest things imaginable. Sweet _and_ hot.

But apparently, that’s just normal for him. The guy’s voice is a dream. That just makes it all the more awkward for him. For them both. Dean supposes it’s not great that he can’t hold a conversation with him without making a stuttering mess of himself at least once.

Damn it, he’s so screwed. He just hopes he can get used to the guy enough to be able to act like a relatively normal person around him.

He sighs and puts on some random soap cutting video to clear his head and relax, but the gentle _goodnight, Dean_ is still fresh in his mind. After what feels like eternity, he’s finally able to drift off.

***

They get through all the formalities quite quickly over the week. Dean’s still freaking out a little, but he’s been so busy at work and so tired afterwards that he didn’t have time to overthink the whole thing. That, and he stopped watching the guy altogether.

He can do this.

They see each other to sign the papers and Dean feels relatively chill, but doesn’t engage in much beside a nod and a smile, just in case Cas decides last minute that maybe Dean’s behavior bothers him too much. He is man enough to admit that he’d be disappointed if Cas changed his mind about being their roommate, even if it would probably spare him some embarrassment in the future. 

Sam, as a lawyer in training, makes the whole process easy and painless. He handles everything like a professional and Dean is suddenly hit with the realization that his little brother is a grown man now. Dean’s not so much responsible for him anymore as he is helping him out. When did that even happen?

He signs the final papers with a small smile on his lips, but the letters before him seem to blur.

***

He gets a call from Sam on his Friday lunch break just as he sits down with Jo.

“Sammy? You good?” he asks, worry bubbling in his stomach. His brother doesn’t normally call him during the day when he’s at work, he just texts him.

“Yeah, Dean, I was just wondering whether you’re working at the Roadhouse tonight,” Sam replies and Dean lets out a small sigh of relief. Jo looks at him briefly and turns her attention to Charlie as she joins them at the table.

“Yeah, especially since I bailed last Friday,” he grumbles, already dreading tonight’s shift. Fridays are usually pretty busy and he still feels guilty about being sent home last week. “Why?”

“Well…” Sam hesitates, and Dean feels an impending sense of doom at the tone of his voice. “I talked with Cas this morning and we figured he could move in tonight, but he needs a lift.”

Something must show on his face, because Jo and Charlie stop talking to observe him. He ignores them. “Can’t he just take an Uber or something?”

“Dean,” his brother sighs and pauses. Dean imagines him rubbing his face in frustration. “Obviously he _could_ do that, but I thought it would be nice if we actually _helped_ him, you know? Gabriel is out of town for the weekend and he’s gonna have to carry all his boxes out by himself.”

Dean bites his lip in thought. Cas could surely handle his own things with ease. The guy has some muscle— _boy_ does he ever—so obviously he can manage, but that’s not the point. The point is that he’s all by himself, moving out of his brother’s house, with nobody to help him. He frowns.

“What kind of a sucky brother skips town just as his sibling is moving out of the house, anyway?”

“A _busy_ one, Dean,” he states, but Dean doesn’t buy that excuse. Surely, he’d find the time if it was Sam moving out… which Dean doesn’t even wanna think about.

He sighs. “I don’t know Sammy, I’m busy too, I can’t just leave Ellen with—”

Jo kicks him under the table. He scowls at her, but she just mouths _you can_. Charlie observes the entire thing with unabashed interest.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do and send you the details,” he finally relents, knowing he can’t possibly win this, not with Sam _and_ Jo on his ass. “But you’re coming with me,” he adds and Sam chuckles.

“Uh, sure thing, Dean.” He sounds amused. Dean doesn’t like that one bit. “Alright, I gotta go back to class.”

Before Dean can say anything else, Sam hangs up on him. He frowns at his phone like it offended him and puts it away, pulling out his sandwich instead. When he looks up, two pairs of curious eyes are on him.

“What?”

“Who’s got you so up-in-arms?” Charlie teases with a smile on her face. “Is it the new roommate?”

“Wait, you guys were looking for a roommate?” Jo interrupts, raising her brows in astonishment. Dean just grunts, already expecting the incoming barrage of questions. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“We only just signed the paperwork,” he manages to squeeze in before he’s interrupted by Charlie.

“Already?” she exclaims. “Dude, that was quick. You didn’t even tell me how the meeting went.”

“Obviously fine, since he’s moving in.” Charlie doesn’t look satisfied with his answer, but he continues. “I gotta pick him up tonight, he needs help with his things,” he explains, trying to remain casual. He looks at Jo. “And what’s with the kicking, anyway? You know I can’t just ditch Ellen again. Fridays are busy.”

Jo rolls her eyes at that. “Oh come on, Dean. You’re basically our family, just call her and tell her what’s going on,” she insists. “I’m pretty sure she’ll understand.”

“Pretty sure,” Dean murmurs. Jo kicks him again and he chuckles.

Charlie leans forward, her food long forgotten. “All that aside, why are you being so coy? Who’s the mystery man, anyway?”

Dean briefly considers his options. He _could_ tell Charlie—actually, she’s probably the only person he could tell about this—but he doesn’t really feel like having that conversation over lunch at work. He already managed to avoid the topic for four whole days thanks to Jo, who’s great at keeping Charlie’s attention on herself most of the time. And as much as he feels Jo is his little sister, there are some things he just won’t discuss with her. One of them is his weird ASMR crush.

“His name is Cas,” he starts, trying to think of anything he can tell her without being too descriptive. “He’s a nice dude. Good cook, pretty chill.” _Soft, nice eyes, great jaw, messy hair._ “He and Sam hang out in the library a lot apparently, and he was looking for a new place since his brother is a big party animal.”

“Oh yeah, Sam told me about him,” Jo recalls and Dean freezes instantly. “He said he’s a really smart guy. He must’ve made an impression if you let him rent your parents’ room so quickly.”

 _Oh, he made an impression, alright,_ Dean thinks, willing his expression to remain neutral, but something must show on his face as Charlie narrows her eyes at him. “Well, he’s Sam’s friend, so I’m not worried. Besides, it hasn’t been our parents’ room for years now, Jo,” he sighs. Jo just nods in understanding, squeezing his arm. Charlie, however, doesn’t relent.

“So is he hot?”

Dean sputters. “Charlie, come on, Jesus.”

Charlie laughs at that. “He _is_! Oh my God, Dean, you’re totally into him!”

“Am not!” He frowns as Charlie grins at him. Jo raises her eyebrows, her smile getting bigger with every second. “He’s good-looking, sure, but he—he’s too—he’s a _nerd,_ Charlie. Not my type,” he insists, but his friend just shakes her head in disbelief.

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” she relents, but Dean knows she’s not done with him in the long run. Instead, she turns her attention back to Jo, but manages to send him one last thoughtful look, as if to tell him _you’re telling me everything later._

And if he is, they’re going out. He’s not doing this without a drink.

***

He finds a minute between calls to talk to Ellen and they agree that he’ll head there straight from Sandover to start his shift two hours early. She was willing to just let him off again, but he insisted on working since he bailed last Friday. He’ll miss the busiest hours anyway, as he’ll have to leave around 8PM to pick Cas up at a reasonable hour. He shoots a quick text to Sam to inform him. Maybe Dean can manage to squeeze in a few minutes to change, or even take a shower.

He’s probably overthinking this. They’re just gonna pick up some boxes and drive home. 

_Home_. They’re gonna live together starting today.

Cas sleeping in a room next door. Just a few steps from his own bedroom.

Cas sitting on their sofa, watching TV with them.

Cas eating breakfast in his PJs.

Cas naked in his shower.

Another call shakes him from his train of thoughts. He was never so happy to talk to a customer as he is at that moment.

***

He leaves the Roadhouse in a much better mood than when he first came in. Even on a busy evening like this, he managed to chat with his friends quite a bit. Both Jo and Ash kept him company for most of his shift, and even Ellen was more involved tonight. Thankfully, nobody mentioned his new roommate, so he was able to relax even as he poured drink after drink, chatting up his customers and even flirting with some of them.

He reaches his Impala and stands there for a second, looking back at the Roadhouse. There’s now a steady stream of people coming in and out of the building and Dean thinks about the choice facing him soon. He knows that they’ll have enough money for him to work less, which means he can drop one of the jobs. He’d most gladly just leave Sandover, obviously—he can’t wait for the day he can tell Zachariah to shove it—but that’s not happening unless he can actually negotiate longer shifts at the Roadhouse or at Bobby’s. He’s not sure either of those places will have him full-time.

Dean sighs and decides he’s gonna worry about it later. He texts Sam again, telling him to get ready, and gets into the Impala.

Gripping the steering wheel, he feels at ease. At home. He starts the engine and finds he’s almost excited about seeing his new roommate soon. The ride home is quick despite the traffic. As Dean arrives at his driveway, he looks at his watch and decides he’s not even gonna leave his car. He’s worried his good mood is gonna disappear once he steps out into the chilly evening air and he’ll start acting like a nervous teenager again. He picks up his phone to send another message to Sam, when he sees a string of unread texts from him.

_hey, I totally forgot, I have to drop off some books at my friend’s house._

_sorry, Dean. I should be home before you guys come back._

_I’m sending you Cas’s address and his number. I told him you’ll pick him up soon._

_call him when u get there. have fun :)_

Dean just stares at his phone, the smiley face mocking him.

God- _fucking_ -dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF
> 
> this is just the beginning of the absolute torture that dean's going to go through, but it's gonna be so worth it, just hang in there, dean lol


End file.
